


Present Tense

by pterodactuality



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Trigger Warning: Suicidal Intent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactuality/pseuds/pterodactuality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yesterday was a Sunday. The monotony of it made me think of you. You would have made bullet holes in the walls. So I did something.</p>
<p>Something happened on a Sunday. What was it? My head hurts."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present Tense

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of set up in a journal way, meaning there is time lapse between each text break.

My head hurts.

I wrote a poem, once. I wrote it when I was young, once. It was rubbish. I rhymed words with themselves and it was all very "histrionic". At least, that's what you called it.

I wonder if you remember it. Me. Us. Anything. You broke my heart and now my head hurts. It's not fair.

Does your head hurt too?

 

-

Sundays are boring. Everyone is at church and avoiding work like it's a sin. Which I suppose it is, if they believe in that stuff. You didn't. I guess I didn't either, since I never went to church after I got old enough to make excuses not to. There was too much mystery in the universe, saying "God did it" felt like cheating. Still does. Everyone uses past tense. Like things aren't the same. Like you aren't real anymore, like I'm not. My head hurts. If there was, is, a God, do you think he could fix that? Probably not. He has better things to do. Or he should. My mother used to thank "Him" (would God be a "he"?) for the smallest things: "Thank God Harry wasn't in that wreck, God is great!". I never understood that. Yes, Harry was safe but what about the people in the wreck. Did God hate them? Were they less deserving? What was wrong with them? It made me angry. You never cared. You didn't, don't, believe in "Him". I did, past tense, for a little while. 

Nothing happens on Sundays. Aside from Russian revolutions, but that was once. You'd laugh at that. You always remembered history when blood was shed.

Yesterday was a Sunday. The monotony of it made me think of you. You would have made bullet holes in the walls. So I did something.

Something happened on a Sunday. What was it? My head hurts.

-

Remember when we went to California for that case? And we saw the Redwoods. The "hundred-or-more-years-old" Redwoods. And you took my Swiss Army knife, the black one that was missing the scissors, and took samples of the wood. Even though I'm pretty sure that's illegal. You were, are, a felon. I guess that makes me an accessory to vandalism, again. It was very you though. I wonder if the marks are still there. They were deep. Did they wear off? Did some animal scrape them off? Did something happen to the tree? Did something happen to you, to me? 

My head hurts.

-

Did we ever go to California? Harry says it was a dream.

-

I miss you. My head hurts and I miss you. Where are you? You said I was your friend and now my head hurts and I miss you and I don't know where you are. 

-

You were my best friend. We never went to California. My head hurts. Something doesn't seem right. There aren't any mirrors in 221B, I can't find my gun, I haven't been called into surgery for days. And you haven't been home for a while. My head hurts. I'm scared. I can't remember your name, just your face, your voice, your brain. You could figure it out. You could deduce your name from the dirt on my trousers.

-

Sherlock. Your name was, is, Sherlock. Where are you?

-

Sherlock, you bastard. My head hurts and it's your fault because you jumped and you're a stupid git because you jumped and you died and now my head hurts and everyone is using past tense and I hate you.

I didn't mean that. Come back Sherlock.

-

I figured out where my gun went. Lestrade has it. Wanker. Illegal firearms, my arse.

-

You can't be dead. My head hurts. I should text you.

Bring home milk. We're out. I don't want to know why. -JW

There. I don't care about the milk, but I can't let you on to why I want you back. You probably already know because of the crinkles on my shirt or the way I combed my hair.

My head hurts.

-

You aren't back yet. I saw you, dead. You died. Past tense. You are not dead. Present tense.

I love you. I can say that because you are not dead and I am not gay.

I love you, Sherlock Holmes. And I believe in you.

\- 

How could nobody tell me? I've complained of headaches for weeks and finally Molly, of all people, tells me! No wonder Lestrade has my gun! No wonder Mrs. Hudson keeps me from leaving, no wonder there aren't any mirrors in the whole damn flat, no wonder…

How did I live? Were you wrong? Was I? It make me angry. What makes me special? I'm John Watson, damaged associate of Sherlock Holmes. Now that you've… left me, I'm just John Watson, damaged.

My head hurts. Please don't be dead Sherlock. If I'm not allowed to be, neither are you.

-

My head hurts. I'll make some tea, two cups. Because you aren't dead. 

-

You aren't dead. And you brought milk. 

This can't be real. It can't be because you brought milk.

So I kiss you. Soft and languid, histrionic words, and you don't move. And then you do, unsure. And I'm falling and crying because this isn't real. But you're still here. Why are you still here?

You're real. And you brought milk.

So I punch you. Strong and forceful, much less histrionic, and you don't say anything. And then you do.

"John."

"Why did you leave me?" I know why.

"I had to destroy his web, John. What happened to your head?"

"You know." He knows.

"Obviously." 

"Want a cuppa?"

I make two cups. And for the first time in months, both are used. And for the first time in months, I can put milk in mine.

And my head doesn't hurt. Present Tense.


End file.
